


The Exaggerated (True) Story of Cordelia Kendall

by Levana (galakticfinn)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galakticfinn/pseuds/Levana
Summary: Oh! A summary. Uh, let me roll a d20. Critical Failure… okay then. Well, I’m Cordelia Kendall and this is my true story.





	The Exaggerated (True) Story of Cordelia Kendall

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, you clicked - good job! Welcome to me doing my own humorous spin on a Fred Weasley/OFC fic

You know when you read a book and the characters come alive to you? No matter how awful the circumstances of that book are, the world is just so completely magical to the point you wish it were real? You know logically that you wouldn’t  _ want _ to be in that world (because let’s be real… would any of us survive in our favorite book? Probably not.), but at the same time it seems better than your life and you’d give anything to meet your favorite characters.

_ No _ , I am  _ not _ living in my favorite book. If I were living in a book I think I’d choose something more like…  _ The Hobbit _ – but not going on the adventure, just me sitting in Shire tending a cute little garden. No death, destruction,  _ death _ , torture,  _ death _ , evil Wizards _ , dea _ – you get the picture. I only point this out because my life might seem like a fun book that you wish you were in, but it’s not. Not right now, anyway.

Seriously, this really isn’t the ideal environment to be in, with curses flying everywhere and constantly looking over your shoulder to see if someone is coming. Every moment now is life altering – former classmates are dying around me. I tighten my grip on the wand in my hand, my faithful companion since I was eleven; not in nine years had my wand failed me (for the most part, you know, when it  _ truly _ matters). Live or die, today marks the end and it  _ terrifies _ me.

I try to stamp down that fear though, it has no place in the here and now. Either way, today is the end. Either freedom or… living under fear and tyranny. It all comes down to this final battle. When did life start feeling less like life and more like the plot of a Muggle children’s novel? A cliché struggle between the good and the bad (the light and the dark?) a chosen one? What was this,  _ Star Wars _ ?

I duck, narrowly missing the jet of green light that flies over my head. I can feel the air stir my hair; it was a close call… _ too _ close. My heart beats erratically in my chest. I try not to think about how I’d nearly died just seconds ago and how lucky it was I’d chosen to duck and not block. There’s no blocking the Killing Curse. It’s dodge or die.

I raise my wand to stun the Death Eater that had tried to kill me, but he’s already falling from a stunner to the face. A glance to my left and I catch the flash of a grin thrown my way. Even in the face of battle the bugger still has a grin on his face; his blue eyes twinkle with mischief as he turns back to his own opponent and expertly defends himself all the while cracking a joke to his brother. It is  _ so _ like him to make light of a situation like this. Rolling my eyes, I open my mouth to make a scathing remark about paying attention (because  _ really _ , now is not the time for cracking jokes).

Then my world is torn apart. Or more accurately…  _ blown _ apart. One moment everything is fine and then I’m flying backwards as everything explodes around me. Debris flies around me, big pieces of stone, and I wrap my arms around my head in a (probably) poor attempt to protect myself. I know it’s probably my mind playing tricks on me because time hasn’t slowed around me, but it really does feel like I’m moving in slow motion; my entire twenty years of life flash before my eyes…

Record scratch, freeze frame.

You may be wondering right about now, “Cordelia, how in the name of Merlin have you found yourself amid a deadly battle?” Well, in all honesty, I think I’d rather like to know the answer to that question myself! Oh wait… I know the answer already. I guess you want me to tell you the (drumroll please!) completely exaggerated … err  _ true _ story of Cordelia Kendall (ah, humor, didn’t I say this wasn’t the time for humor? Coping mechanism, what can I say?).

Anyway… let’s see. When does the tale of Cordelia Kendall begin? Well, I suppose when my mum and dad met, and they decided… Nah, I’m kidding. I won’t go into that, you get the gist. I’m about to relive my whole life in the span of a few seconds, I gotta be a bit choosy with what I  _ regale _ . I suppose it all started nine years ago, that’s when my life became interesting anyway – the first eleven years were dull.

_ Insert wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey stuff _ .  _ Maybe a George Lucas-esque screen wipe? Or a dramatic fade to black and white with a ripple effect as we relive my memories. Ah, wait, my life is not a movie… _

(I sincerely hope that you are a Muggle… or Muggle-born… or a wizard that at least has some knowledge of the Muggle world because if you don’t… my references are lost on you. I could possibly be using my last thoughts [I hope not, I do enjoy not being dead] to make references that are flying right over your heads! Oh, the horror.)

Anyway, I’m Cordelia Astrid Kendall, and this is my ( _ mostly _ true) story.

***

The sun was just beginning to peak out from the horizon, bathing Leeds in a beautiful warm light. It was still early – hardly six in the morning – but I was already awake and watching the sunrise; I had always been something of an early riser. It was probably because most people preferred to sleep in. Rising with the sun had always guaranteed a bit of peace for me before the day started. The other children always threw suspicious glances at me when they were awake and tended to avoid me as much as possible. Not that I really blamed them.

You see, strange things happened around me, things that I couldn’t explain. When I was scared, mostly – though a few times when I’d been (irrationally) angry – things would just  _ happen.  _ A bully would find themselves suddenly covered in painful boils for no reason or they would be glued to the floor (when there hadn’t been glue there before). The others all came to the same conclusion – that it was  _ me _ ; Everyone was right. Most of the strange incidents had stopped when the other kids stopped bullying me.

I knew I was different, for more than one reason. I didn’t know who my parents were, unlike most of the other kids at Inglewood – who at least had a cursory knowledge of their origins. Where did I get my brown eyes and pale complexion? Did I take more after my mother or my father? Did I get my red curls from mum or dad? I had no idea.

I didn’t have any attachment to my real parents, nor did I truly desire much information about them past the basics. All I knew was that a man had dropped me off at Inglewood, only giving them my name and birthday – nothing else. I assumed this man was my father, given what I’d been told. He’d had light brown hair and green eyes, neither of which I had – so maybe I took after my mum? Other than that, I didn’t care about them. In fact, I  _ resented _ them; for I all I knew they had  _ abandoned  _ me.

And of course, the strange things that always happened around me. It was almost like… well I wanted to describe it as magic It was really the only way to explain what happened. But that couldn’t have been right because magic clearly didn’t exist – if it did I wouldn’t be an orphan. The  _ magic _ – as it was – was mainly reason why the other kids bullied me. They mostly left me alone once they realized that (temporary) unexplainable misfortune fell upon the bullies; I still heard the whispers though.

They called me names behind my back. They called me a  _ freak _ . They called me weird. They called me unnatural. I tried not to believe them, but when you’re constantly called something… it’s hard  _ not _ to believe it yourself. I couldn’t help but think that maybe they were  _ right _ . I had never hurt someone, not intentionally anyway, but what I could do… I’d never met anyone else that could make things  _ happen _ . So, I kept to myself. It was easier that way.

Luckily, at six in the morning, I didn’t need to worry about any of that – not for a few hours at any rate. Taking advantage of the quiet, I curled up by the window happily rereading one of my favorite books –  _ The Princess Bride.  _ For a time, I got lost in the book again, unaware that  _ that _ day would forever change my life. As far as I knew, that day was just going to be another bland day at Inglewood Orphanage.

When it was seven o’clock, I quietly slipped from the room and went downstairs to the kitchen. Miss Alcott was there already, as usual, bustling around in the kitchen. Miss Alcott gave me a gentle smile when I walked in. The matron here is the only one that didn’t seem to think that I was freak. I wasn’t too sure if it was because Miss Alcott was unaware of the weird things I caused or not – but she didn’t care. I was honestly just glad that  _ somebody _ liked me.

“Morning, Miss Alcott,” I smiled back, moving to help the older woman make breakfast for the rest.

It was the same routine every day. I would help Miss Alcott make breakfast, this let me get away with not helping with the cleanup (and thus allowed me to avoid the other children). Then, after making breakfast, I would eat quickly before bolting back upstairs.

I was just rinsing off my breakfast plate when the others came down into the kitchen, hardly bother to acknowledge my presence (frankly, I’m surprised they weren’t afraid to eat the food I made). Excusing myself quietly, I went back upstairs and into the now empty bedroom.

With a sigh, I dropped onto my bed and stared up at the water-stained ceiling as I thought about what to do today. It was still the summer holidays which meant that I didn’t have school to occupy my time. It looked like another uneventful day consisting of me moving from room to room avoid the other children. The thought made me almost wish we all had schoolwork to complete, at least that would distract everyone.

I was already thinking about the various places that I could hide when the sound of the front door opening could be heard. There were muffled voices before another door snapped shut and I couldn’t hear anything else. Whoever was here had gone into Miss Alcott’s office, probably to discuss an adoption. It seemed a bit early for that, but not too weird. I didn’t get my hopes up though, no one was ever here for me. The adults around here all seemed to know who I was and what I could do.

Nobody wanted to adopt a freak.

I grabbed  _ The Princess Bride _ again and opened it to where I had left off (Buttercup and Westley were making their way through the Fire Swamp). After a while, there was a light knock and the door opened. I set my book aside and looked down the row of beds to see Miss Alcott walking over to her followed by a woman I didn’t recognize. I sat up, looking over at the mysterious women and wondering what she wanted – it couldn’t possibly be… surely there wasn’t someone here that wanted to adopt  _ me _ .

“Cordelia, dear, there’s someone here to see you,” Miss Alcott said when she reached my bed.

I titled my head and studied Miss Alcott when I noticed a somewhat dazed look on the woman’s face. I frowned at that.  _ Why would Miss Alcott be dazed? _ I thought that was fairly odd as there wasn’t a reason for it, unless Miss Alcott was shocked that someone would want to see  _ me _ . My gaze slid back to the women behind Miss Alcott. I thought she looked rather strict, with her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun and dressed in a dark green pantsuit. Something about her seemed off to me, like she didn’t quite belong here, though I couldn’t figure out why.

“Am I… being adopted?” I chanced to ask, looking between the two adults – though my face fell when Miss Alcott shook her head.

“Professor McGonagall is a representative from a boarding school,” Miss Alcott explained.

“Could I perhaps speak to Miss Kendall privately?” Professor McGonagall asked.

Miss Alcott blinked at Professor McGonagall. I thought she’d say no, but to my surprise she nodded her head in agreement before leaving the room. I frowned, trying to wrap my head around the idea of someone wanting to talk to me about a  _ boarding school _ . Boarding schools were for…well… they were for the  _ rich _ . Rich kids went to boarding schools and I was the  _ opposite _ of rich.  I hadn't even taken the eleven-plus exam, so couldn’t fathom how I ended up on a list of prospective students for a boarding school.

I chewed on my lip for a moment, thinking about what to do. Professor McGonagall seemed to be observing me for the moment, perhaps waiting to see what I would do. Maybe this Professor McGonagall was gauging my personality. After a moment I came to a decision. I stood up and smoothed out the rumpled, worn bedspread.

I looked shyly up at Professor McGonagall, running my fingers awkwardly through my tangled hair. “Would you…uh…like to sit? Professor?”

“Thank you, Miss Kendall,” Professor McGonagall said, sitting on the bed, and then gesturing to the empty space beside her.

I took the hint and sat back down on the bed. The shabby quality of the room was evident to me now, as I sat there beside Professor McGonagall. She looked out of place with her crisp pant suit sitting on the threadbare bedspread that I had. I tried not to flush in embarrassment as I forced myself not to pick at the threads on the blanket; I knew it wasn’t something to be ashamed of, but I couldn’t help it.

“Are you really from a boarding school?” I asked cautiously.

Professor McGonagall nodded and replied simply, “Yes, I teach at a school called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You’re a witch.”

I blinked at Professor McGonagall, mouthing the words “witchcraft and wizardry” in disbelief. My first instinct was to ask Professor McGonagall is she was mental, but I held back (I figured she probably wasn’t a woman that would take well to being called mental). Professor McGonagall, from what little I knew about her (which was  _ nothing _ ), looked to be a no-nonsense type of woman and to be honest she didn’t look like she had a funny bone in her body. So… she had to be telling the truth?

But magic  _ didn’t _ exist. It just  _ didn’t _ . Then again… the existence of magic  _ could _ explain the weird things that happened around me. Still, she couldn’t help but be skeptical. She’d had one too many disappointments in her short, eleven-year life and she learned by now not to get her hopes up too much. It served to keep her feelings safe.

“I… don’t mean to be rude professor… but are you having me on?” I asked.

“I assure you, Miss Kendall, I am not ‘ _ having you on _ ,’” Professor McGonagall answered. She surveyed me for a moment before continuing, “Have you ever noticed anything strange happen around you? Something you couldn’t explain when you were scared or angry?”

I blinked in surprise. Professor McGonagall seemed to be giving me a knowing look from behind her glasses. She knew. Somehow Professor McGonagall  _ knew _ , but she didn’t have that look of sympathy on her face that other adults got when I tried to tell them I couldn’t explain things.

“I suppose…” I started carefully, “I’ve… well it  _ seemed  _ like I’ve glued bully’s feet to the ground to stop them running after me. But I mean…” I trailed off and looked up at Professor McGonagall, “Professor, are you actually saying that magic is  _ real? _ That is exists and that I’m not a…  _ freak _ .” I whispered the last part, hoping Professor McGonagall wouldn’t hear it.

Professor McGonagall’s mouth thinned at the word freak – evidently, she’d heard me – and she straightened her spectacles, looking stern. “You are not a freak, Miss Kendall. You have a very special gift.”

The way Professor McGonagall said that, it sounded like this wasn’t the first time she’d had to say that. I looked at Professor McGonagall. I wanted to believe her, I really did, but it just seemed to  _ fantastical _ . Almost like a fairytale, it seemed, someone coming and saving me from the orphanage to whisk me off into a world of magic and wonder.

“Could… you show me?” I eventually asked; I wanted some sort of proof that magic was real.

Professor McGonagall nodded and stood up. Then, before my eyes she transformed into a tabby cat. I gaped at the cat and rubbed at my eyes in shock, wondering if I was actually seeing a cat where the professor had been only moments before. I looked back down. Yup, sure enough there was a cat sitting there. It had markings around its eyes that looked like they could have been the glasses that Professor McGonagall had been wearing. After another moment the cat transformed back into Professor McGonagall.

I jumped to my feet and looked up at the professor, my eyes wide any trace of hesitation gone from me now. “That was brilliant, Professor!” I exclaimed, my eyes likely shining with excitement now, “Can I do that?”

Maybe I should have been more hesitant about the whole magic thing, but at the same time… _ magic.  _ It almost felt like a dream come true and now to have the  _ undeniable _ evidence that I  _ wasn’t _ crazy or a  _ freak _ . It felt amazing and it was exciting.

Professor McGonagall favored me with a smile, a hint of amusement in her eyes, “becoming an Animagus, wizards who can transform into animals, is very complex magic. There are few fully trained wizards who would be capable of such transformations.”

I deflated for a moment before grinning widely, “Guess I’ll just have to make sure I’m capable when I’m older.” I informed her happily.

I could see Professor McGonagall giving me an appraising look, I was rocking on the balls of my feet now as I waited for the older woman to respond. It was almost agony, waiting for the Professor to say something.

“If you wish to attend Hogwarts I suggest that you pack your belongings,” she said to me. I could see her nod slightly in approval when I instantly began gathering my meager belongings into a bag. “Don’t forget anything, I doubt you’ll be returning.”

I nearly dropped the bundle of clothes I had pulled from my small dresser in shock and looked up at Professor McGonagall, “I… don’t have to come back?” I asked hopefully, I could hardly believe that I wouldn’t have to come back – but I was inclined to believe Professor McGonagall at this point; she hadn’t led me astray yet.

Professor McGonagall gave me the ghost of a smile again, “You will not. There’s an orphanage in Diagon Alley where you may stay during the holidays.”

I nodded and went back to gathering my clothes. Despite the curiosity that burned in me, I didn’t ask about this Diagon Alley. I’d never heard of it before, so I assumed it was probably some kind of wizard place (which would be  _ cool _ ). At any rate, I  _ hoped _ that’s what it was because that meant the orphanage would have kids that were like me. The prospect of being moved to yet  _ another _ orphanage (Inglewood was the sixth, though at this point I’d been there for three years) wasn’t exactly thrilling, I figured it could be worse. I would, after all, be attending a magic school!

_ (The only thing better than going to a magic school would be learning to use The Force from Luke Skywalker. Sadly, I have yet to discover that The Force exists alongside magic.) _

I finished stuffing my clothes into my backpack, conscious of the somewhat disapproving look Professor McGonagall gave when I didn’t fold my clothes. I personally didn’t think it mattered all that much if I folded my clothes since they were all hand-me-downs anyway. Once everything else was shoved into my bag, I grabbed my beloved copy of  _ The Princess Bride _ and placed it carefully in the top of my bag.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and looked up at the professor again, “I’m ready.”

***

We had a rather uneventful ride on the underground. A bit disappointing, but I suppose if everything in the  _ Wizarding World  _ was jam packed with adventure and excitement it could get pretty tiring. I noticed again that, somehow, Professor McGonagall looked out of place on the underground. Maybe she’d never been on the underground before. Professor McGonagall had briefly explained some things to me, like the fact that wizards tended to keep away from the Muggle World – most muggles were distrustful of magic. I could understand that, the kids at Inglewood were afraid of me. If I had been a muggle maybe I would have been afraid of me too.

I kept close to Professor McGonagall’s side once we had left the train station. I’d never been to London before and it was honestly a bit overwhelming; it was midday by now and the streets were bustling with life. I looked around with curiosity when we stopped in front of shabby looking pub called The Leaky Cauldron. Others on the street didn’t pay the little pub any attention, they just walked right past almost like the weren’t even seeing the building. I thought it a bit odd that Professor McGonagall would be taking me to a…  _ bar _ … really, since I was you know  _ eleven _ . I didn’t question it though, she hadn’t led me astray so far

It was dimly lit inside and just as shabby inside as it had appeared from outside. Despite that though, it gave a very comforting vibe. There were a few people sitting in the pub when we walked in, chatting with each other quietly or sitting alone reading a newspaper (I remember almost squealing with excitement when I caught sight of a  _ moving picture _ on the cover of one paper). They were all dressed, in my opinion, rather strangely. Everyone was wearing robes of varying quality and colors; it was an odd clothing choice but maybe it was the norm in the Wizarding World.

I followed Professor McGonagall through the Leaky Cauldron and out another door. I frowned in confusion when I realized we were standing in front of a brick wall. It felt a bit underwhelming to be honest. I’m not sure what I was expecting… but a  _ brick wall? _ I looked up at Professor McGonagall who, unfazed by this, pulled out her wand and tapped a brick.

I couldn’t stop the look of utter astonishment from flitting across my face as the bricks in front of me began moving and creating an archway. One moment I’d been facing a brick wall, the next I was looking into a bright alley alive with activity. Nobody else seemed to think it odd that an arch had just appeared. A few people though, threw me welcoming smiles when they heard my surprised gasp (some others scowled at me, though I couldn’t fathom why).

I practically had to pick my jaw up from the ground when I saw the shops that were there. My head was turning everywhere as Professor McGonagall led me along the street. There was so much going on and I wanted to see it  _ all _ . The alley was busy, just as busy as the street outside the Leaky Cauldron had been, but it didn’t feel as overwhelming to me. I hungrily eyed an ice cream shop, though I realized we didn’t have time for that now.

“Here is your list of necessary supplies,” Professor McGonagall said, handing me a piece of parchment.

I took it with a frown and looked up at professor McGonagall. “I don’t have any money…” I said softly, embarrassment coloring my voice.

“That’s not a problem. Hogwarts sets aside a fund for children who cannot afford the supplies.”

Huh. I stuttered out a “thanks” in response to Professor McGonagall. I’d never really heard of a private school setting aside money for orphans to be able to use, but I wasn’t going to complain. Hogwarts sounded fun… not that I really knew that much about it – you know aside from the magic school thing. But I mean, c’mon, magic school. It  _ has _ to be fun.

I unfolded the school list (it was written on  _ parchment! _ ) and looked it over. It seemed to be a rather basic list of supplies: school books, a uniform (robes? So, I guess that  _ is _ the norm in the magic world), a cauldron (that peaked my interest, I’d always loved chemistry at school). What grabbed my interest the most, though, was the  _ wand.  _ Apparently, I get to have my very own magic  _ wand _ .

Professor McGonagall took me into the various shops in Diagon Alley. I particularly liked the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts. I could’ve spent  _ hours _ in there, looking through all the books. They say not to judge a book by its cover, but I don’t think whoever came up with that phrase ever saw a  _ magic _ book with a  _ moving  _ cover. Unfortunately, I couldn’t buy every book in the store. Professor McGonagall did let me buy a few extra books about the Wizarding World which I was happy about; I rather felt like I needed to play some catch up, so to speak, since I didn’t grow up in the magical world.

The rest of the stores weren’t as interesting to me. We went to a second-hand robe shop for my uniform. I think I annoyed the lady that was hemming the robes for me because I kept fidgeting with anticipation; the next shop would be the  _ wand _ shop. Finally,  _ finally _ the robes were hemmed and paid for and we were leaving the shop. Before I knew it, we were standing outside of Ollivander’s Wand shop.

Following Professor McGonagall into the shop, I was surprised to see how… _ dingy _ it seemed on the inside. It was dim inside, quite dusty – as if the owner hadn’t cleaned the shop in years. Though, after learning that the Leaky Cauldron led into a magical alley I realized I shouldn’t just something by how dingy it looks.

“Ah, Professor McGonagall. A first-year student, I presume?” an elderly man (I assumed this was Mr. Ollivander) asked in a papery voice, appearing from between the shelves stacked with thin boxes. He seemed to look at me in shock once he’d seen me, though he quickly hid the reaction (maybe I’d just imagined it). “And what is your name, dear?”

I looked briefly up at Professor McGonagall before looking back and answering, “Cordelia Kendall, sir.”

He nodded at that and smiled at me, “Well Miss Kendall, today is the most important day of your life. Some would say it's your sorting ceremony at Hogwarts that is the most important, but truly it is the wand that defines who you really are. After all, the wand chooses the owner.”

He didn’t wait for me to respond to that. He pulled out his wand and waved it before shuffling off between the many shelves again. I jerked back in surprise when I noticed a tape measure taking various measurements of my body.

A moment later Mr. Ollivander came back carrying a box. He opened it and then handed a wand to me. Taking it, I looked at Mr. Ollivander with confusion. I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to do, it’s not like know how to do anything.

“Well. Wave it! See if it suits you,” he said, gesturing to the wand I was holding.

“Uh, okay?”

I waved the wand and then yelped in surprise when the chair in the corner splintered and broke. Mr. Ollivander immediately snatched the wand away from me and replaced it in the box. He disappeared again before coming back with another box, which apparently didn’t suit me either. This seemed to go on for ages. He’d give me a wan, I’d wave it and break something, and he’d take it away only to come back with another.

“Ah. Tricky, tricky.” Mr. Ollivander muttered to himself as he once again disappeared amid the dusty shelves. I could hear him shuffling through the boxes as he continued to talk to himself, “But no matter, we’ll find the perfect wand for you. It’s only a matter of… ah could be. Yes, certainly it could be a match.”

I stood up on my tiptoes to try and see Mr. Ollivander, but I couldn’t see through the densely packed shelves (seriously there were a  _ lot _ of wands there). Mr. Ollivander came back this time, surveying me with a twinkle in his eyes. I could see the intrigue written on his face. He’d taken much longer than before to come back with a wand, clearly, he’d been hunting for the one that seemed to be perfect for me.

“Cherry wood and dragon heartstring. Ten and a quarter inches. Quite bendy. A truly powerful wand combination, devastating in the wrong hands, but if paired with of high self-control…” he trailed off and looked at me keenly, “but you seem to have extraordinary patience.”

I watched with rapt attention as he opened the box and pulled out a dark pinkish-red wand. I looked at it apprehensively. It was a beautiful wand, I could tell (not that they weren’t  _ all _ beautiful, but I could feel that this one was special), but I still looked at it nervously. Powerful? Devastating in the wrong hands? I wasn’t too sure how I felt about that, I certainly didn’t want a  _ devastating  _ wand. Nor did I think I was particularly patient. Mr. Ollivander was looking at me expectantly though as he offered the wand to me, so I took it.

The moment the wand touched my fingers I knew it was  _ the _ one. A warmth spread through me, starting at my fingers and spreading up my arm; I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d been glowing. This time when I waved the wand nothing broke. Instead, a shower of gold and pink sparks erupted from the end in an elegant arc.

Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands together and smiled, “Well done, Miss Kendall.”

I flushed a bit at that (because I think the wand did all the work, not me) but grinned all the same. “Thank you, sir.

I held the wand…  _ my _ wand… gingerly in my hands, as if I were afraid to break it, and studied it with awe while Professor McGonagall paid for it. This was it. I wasn’t sure what the sorting ceremony at Hogwarts was (hopefully someone would explain that to me), but I think Mr. Ollivander was right. Today  _ was _ the most important day of my life. Everything felt more real not. Maybe it was because I had actually done magic. It almost felt like I’d proven to myself that,  _ yes _ , I  _ was _ a witch.

I didn’t pay attention to anything else in Diagon Alley after that, I was too preoccupied thinking about my wand, until we stopped in front of a smaller building. It was no less cheerful than the rest of the alley. It was wedged between a bright, pink Sweet Shop (a place I was itching to go into, I’d never really had an opportunity to eat too many sweets – especially with allergies that I have) and a tea shop.

I tore my eyes (somewhat reluctantly) from the sweet shop and looked back at the building we were standing in front of. It was painted a dark, plum purple with gold lettering that read,  _ “MacFarlane’s Home for Orphaned Witches and Wizards Est. 1981.”  _ I frowned in curiosity at that bit. Considering how old fashioned the wizarding world appeared to be so far, I would have thought that an orphanage would have been around longer than eight years.

“Here we are, Miss Kendall.” Professor McGonagall glanced down at me. I think she noticed that I was worried because she added, “You needn’t worry, the matron here is a good woman. A former student of mine, very kind hearted.”

I glanced sideways at Professor McGonagall as she knocked on the door sharply. Now that I was standing in front of this orphanage, I was starting to have some mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, I’d be living with kids like me – magical -  but on the other hand… I’d be going to yet  _ another _ orphanage. It wouldn’t be like Inglewood though, since the unexplainable  _ weird _ things about me were explainable now.

The door swung open to reveal a kind, motherly looking woman. She had a kind face framed by red curls. The woman smiled when she caught sight of me standing shyly beside Professor McGonagall. Part of me wanted to hide completely behind her, but that also felt extremely childish

_ (Yes, I know I was only eleven at this point, but back then I thought I was mature). _

“Marlene,” Professor McGonagall greeted the woman warmly. “This is Cordelia Kendall,” she placed her hand on my shoulder, gently urging me to move forward. “She’s from Inglewood Orphanage and will be starting Hogwarts this year.”

Marlene smiled at me, “It’s lovely to meet you, dear.”

As I followed Professor McGonagall into the building, I couldn’t help but think that Marlene’s smile had looked genuine and made me feel safe. Maybe this wouldn’t be too horrible. Besides.  _ Magic school! _

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
